Hypnophobia
by Hoodoo
Summary: Something has happened inside his head, and Murdock refuses to sleep.


Disclaimer: no recognizable characters are mine, no money made, etc. etc. Heart you, A-Team creators and the actors who brought it to life!

Author's note: this is a fill on the A-Team Prompts community over on LJ. Prompter wanted this: _So, for some reason Murdock is afraid to go to sleep. (Afraid of nightmares? Or something more creative -something might've happened?) As in, phobia-mentally-unstable-afraid. So he doesn't sleep.. And obviously someone notices . . ._

So here is is. Odd format, odd little piece. Rated high for a teeny bit of adult talk and slashy mentions. Hope you like it though!

Enjoy!

* * *

><p><em>Day One:<em>

Nothing much happened.

_Day Two:_

Spongebob helps. His cackly rat-a-tat laugh cuts into my brain. And Patrick is so dumb! And Squidward! I love his sardonic wit and Tiki hut house. I wish I lived in a Tiki hut house. That'd be better than a pineapple anyway. A pineapple house would be sticky and the sweet smell would be overwhelming. But if you were hungry you could just take a big ol' bite out of your house, just like James did flying over the world with his insect friends in the giant peach! And once I read that eating a bunch of pineapple makes your come taste sweeter. Hmm. Just might have to try that. Does Bosco like pineapple? Would he eat lots and lots of pineapple in the name of science and blowjobs? Wait, or was it that pineapple makes a woman go into labor? Hmm. Must do more research, and stick with Tiki hut house for now. I wonder if Faceman can scam us one of those.

_Day Two and a Half:_

Bosco made me turn off the Spongebob marathon. Said too much TV rots my brain. I told him it was good he looked out for me, then leaped on him. Good thing he's all strong and stuff. He grumbled that I was a damn squirrel—coatimundi, I corrected him, because of the shape of my big nose and because I'm an omnivore—then he said he didn't care what I was as long as I was his.

I took him to bed then, and decided he didn't need to eat pineapple because he was already so sweet.

_Day Three (early morning):_

I like listening to him sleep beside me. He's big and rumbly, like a mountain with trolls and troll tunnels on the inside. Once, when evil Hannibal and henchman Face had to knock him out for an itty bitty plane ride, I set up my Lego men around him to lay siege on Mt. Baracus. I don't have my Lego men right now. They've wandered away. Sometimes I can see their yellow heads at the corners of mine own eyes, but when I turn to catch them, they skitter away.

There are other things, too, at the edge of my vision. Darker shapes, amorphous blobs. Like delinquent Lego men they float away when I look for them.

I know what they want, though. And I won't do it.

_Day Three (afternoon):_

Fell in the pool.

_Day Three (afternoon):_

Out of the pool now.

Face thought that was the funniest thing ever. I don't even know how it happened. I was just walking along the edge of it, minding my own business. I have good equilibrium. A good inner ear, like iron clad against physical unbalance. Ask anyone. But today I was balancing along and got dizzy and just fell in.

Good thing! Fell in the water, didn't hit the concrete! Flailed around in surprise, and the shock of cold water erased any dizziness. Face just laughed and laughed while I got out and Bosco got me a towel.

He made me sit and scrubbed me dry with the towel. I tried to push him off but he made me strip to my underpants before I could go inside, because my clothes were soaked. Since when does he care about water all through a rental? He can be so pushy.

Faceman's laugh is so much like Spongebob's, but it's not so amusing.

_Day Three (later afternoon):_

Still miffed. Face still laughing.

Told him to shut it. He didn't. Finally Bosco told him. He did. I told Bosco to leave me alone too. The looks on both their faces would have been funny, but were just irritating.

Went out for a walk alone, just to get away from everyone.

Stayed away from the pool.

_Day Three (late evening):_

Little black dots chased me back into the house. They're just on the outer rim of my vision. When I came back inside, the bright overhead lights made them scatter.

Take that, susuwatari!

Hannibal said what?

I didn't know he was there. He's sneaky, that ol' Colonel, sitting at the breakfast bar hiding behind a cloud of smoke instead of relaxing in a recliner with a blanket of smoke.

Susuwatari, I told him. Soot sprites.

He nodded slowly. I watched his expression grow sharp, sharp to cut me, sharp to slice inside and see what was in there, all my innards, all my private thoughts—

You don't look good, Captain, he said.

I look great?

He shook his head. No. You look awful.

Ouch.

Go to bed. Get some rest.

Maybe I nodded, 'cause I'm a good faker.

_Day Three (night):_

Who ever heard of a rental with funhouse stairs? All undulating and soft.

Hannibal made me go upstairs. I wouldn't have. Didn't want to. But he forced me. And now I'm on these stairs taking their inspiration from tidal swells. Pretended it wasn't happening, because Hannibal watched, but it was a struggle to keep upright. Should have just gone to my hands and knees. Would've been faster.

_Day Three (night):_

Bosco's in bed, waiting.

If Hanni hadn't watched, I wouldn't have gone into our bedroom. Would've waited and waited and snuck back downstairs.

But here now. Bosco's calling me over, pushing open the blankets, fumbling the buttons and zippers on my clothes, guiding me into that wide expanse of where I don't want to be.

Asks me what's wrong. Tells me he's worried. Says I've been grumpy and off and he wants to know what he can do. To help.

Can't answer. Don't answer.

He decides to hold me in lieu of knowledge.

Holding turns to kissing and rubbing and I think. If I can satisfy him, if he comes, then he'll be sated and sleepy like a big ol' male lion and he'll be asleep before. Then I can watch him instead. Prop my eyelids up with toothpicks like the old cartoons if I need to.

I know what buttons to push. I know when to be submissive and whorish and when to take over and surprise him with aggression.

Aggression tonight, to show I mean business.

Bosco knows what buttons to push too, and is obedient. He lets me take control and do what I want, how I want. And it's so good, kissing and fondling and making him ready for me, him moaning and chuckling because my fingers and tongue are wicked teases. Finally he can't stand it anymore, all sweaty and writhing and desperate and here, only here, I've never heard him beg anyone anywhere else, him begging me to fuck him should make me hot, it always makes me hot and always before I can't wait to accommodate and it will be so good—

—I can't do it.

Like that pool water earlier today a rush of cold drops over me and it's gone. My libido vanishes quicker than a fox going to ground. I don't know what happened, but there's no way I'm performing tonight.

I rock back on my heels. Don't even care this showcases my flaccidity. Bosco realizes something's up—haha aren't you the comedian—and reaches for me.

Then I realize he's going to think it's him, that he did something wrong and that's not true, it's never him, and how am I going to explain it and make him understand it's not him it's me and I'm sorry it's me it's me—

Suddenly I'm crying—that pool water filled me up too much, apparently, and now wants to get out and back to its concrete bed—and Bosco's holding me again and comforting me, instead of the other way 'round.

He doesn't make me explain. He rocks and kisses and it's nice.

Eventually he drifts off to sleep.

I don't.

_Day Four (mid-morning):_

Staring out window. Sunlight hurts my eyes, makes me want to close them, but I think if I can keep them open in the sun I can keep them open here or there or anywhere—

—I would not, could not, in the rain. Not in the dark. Not on a train. Not in a car. Not in a tree. I do not like them, Sam, you see. Not in a house. Not in a box. Not with a mouse. Not with a fox. I will not eat them here or there. I do not like them anywhere!

Hey Crazy.

Bosco runs his hand over my head. Jerk away. Irritated.

Thought you'd stay in bed with me.

Shake my head. Vexed.

Come on baby. You look tired.

Shake my head again. Cross.

Seriously, man. You look _exhausted._

I can hear the worry in the word. Don't care. Annoyed.

Bosco tries to say more. Tries to touch me again, my face this time, to make me look at him. Bat him away.

Can't he see I need to stare at the bright? Keeps the darkness away, keeps it from obscuring my eyes. Can't he see?

My head hurts.

_Day four (afternoon):_

—move aside and let the people go by they don't see you thinking that they're home in their beds they must not be disturbed when they're wandering all around the country and they're walking in their sleep—

_Day four (evening):_

Can't. Others. Face? No. Face's face is static. This Dr. Zaius here. Stinking paws off me, damned dirty ape! When did Face's mutant X gene to shapeshift start expressing itself? That'll be handy—

Pull yourself together, man!

I sit down, hard. That's what I tell, but what really happened was the carpet reached up and grabbed me. Others tried to catch me with their octopus arms, but I'm slick like an eel and am out of their grasp. I hear some type of words; octopus language. How to they form words with a beak? The sound of the ocean rushing in my ears makes them too muffled to understand anyway, even if I could speak cephalopod.

The carpet fibers let me go and I leave them and their grabby tentacles.

_Day Four (later evening):_

You gotta eat.

No.

Baby, you gotta eat. Just one bite.

No.

For me?

I didn't make the meal. It's mystery food. And poisoned? Possibly.

Please? For me?

Should I tell him the hazy black blobs are floating around his head? Closing in and around? That we need to move to the equator so there's overly bright sun longer hours to keep the dark splotches away?

No need to frighten him, I decide. It's not Bosco's fault he can't see the tunnel closing in around us.

One bite, Crazy.

Fine. If you'll leave me alone.

He shakes his head, and the motion is drawn out, like a mile wide. It's in slow motion and moves too fast.

Not tonight, baby. I'm gonna be right by your side and make sure you get some sleep.

A bite of mystery food, offered on a fork. My traitorous mouth opens and food is introduced to my tongue.

My tongue is not disloyal! My tongue is familiar with poisonings and pills! It finds the grit, finds the pieces not ground finely enough! Do these octopus apes think I can be so easily fooled? Do they think I have no defenses against feeble attempts of tablets and toxins?

My beautiful, trustworthy tongue hides the poison. We've had practice, unlike the naïve octoapes who don't even make me open my mouth and demonstrate I've swallowed!

I laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh—

_Day Five (morning):_

Can't make me. Will not won't will not wouldn't not

Pitch jet ebon black. Go 'way, black. Don't cum back.

Won't won't won't won't

Double-crossing eyelids. Must of spoke to mouth. Must of

Leave me alone. Dont touch me

Falling—

_Day Five (late morning):_

falling—falling—falling—

_Day Five (noon):_

—no bottum, fallin, no stoppin, wheres the bottum—will it hert when i land? No bottumles pits here i no of, but im fallin anyways—

_Day Five (one o'clock)_

bottum. just git outside son will chase awy black butt now spinning not a web, not Arachne not challenge not insult the gods just spinning an i want it ta stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop

_Day Five (one twenty-three):_

B.A. finds Murdock in a heap on the floor of the foyer. He rushes to his man's side, calling for Hannibal or Face, _right__now!_ He scoops Murdock up as the other two thunder into the tiled room. The noise they create stirs the man in his arms.

"Don't . . . let me . . ." Murdock mutters weakly. His voice is a croak; his eyes are a thousand dull miles away.

"I won't let you go baby," B.A. whispers fiercely, squeezing him.

Murdock claws at the black man's bicep.

"Don't let me _sleep,__"_ he demands, managing to sound savage.

B.A. looks up at the other men standing over them; silently, desperately asking for help.

Face immediately drops to his knees too and strokes his friend's face and chest, pressing the palm of his hand over Murdock's heart. B.A. is not jealous of the seemingly intimate contact. Murdock is his and his alone; Face's friendship is special but not something to be suspicious about. Murdock does not acknowledge the touch of either man.

"Sleep is exactly what he needs," says Hannibal quietly. His voice is so soft it barely reaches their ears, and B.A. knows it's so Murdock won't hear and protest.

B.A. nods. "Baby, we're getting up now."

But Murdock is dead weight in his arms, and it takes both Face and Hannibal helping to get him up from the awkward position on the floor. Once vertical, Murdock's legs give out again and B.A. simply lifts him, cradling him tightly to his chest.

"He's beyond exhausted, B.A." Hannibal continues in that same feather soft voice. "He needs as much sleep as his body wants—we can take turns staying with him if we need to—"

"I'll be with him."

Hannibal nods. "I know. Just so long as he isn't disturbed—"

Murdock gasps, "I'll be good! I'll be good—just don't make me, I won't I can't please, _please__—"_

His voice grows frailer until the final please isn't emphatic but mouthed. His voice is lost and although he tries, nothing more finds its way out. Tears slide down his cheeks in silence.

B.A. presses his lips to Murdock's temple. He wants to wipe the lines of wet from his lover's face but can't, holding him in this position. His throat aches. He wants to do what Murdock wants, wants to give him anything in the world, but it makes no sense. He also wants to do what's best for him. His desires contradict each other, and his heart aches when he knows he has to ignore his man's desperate weeping.

Face squeezes his elbow, and B.A. allows the conman to lead him to the staircase.

The big man climbs slowly, Murdock becoming heavier in his arms the higher they go. The pilot hasn't stopped trying to say something; the tears haven't stopped flowing, and every step B.A. takes drives another nail into his heart that this horrible, stupid situation—the one Murdock put upon himself, the stupidity of not sleeping—was against his man's wishes.

If Face and Hannibal hadn't been behind him, B.A. would have probably stopped.

But he knows they're right, and sometimes doing the right thing isn't the easy thing. By the time they reach the bedroom, Murdock is still tense but his eyes are closing in increasingly long blinks.

Face pulls down the blankets and sheets on the bed for them, and B.A. asks for a moment of privacy. Unlike Murdock's, his request is granted. He carefully undresses both of them, a bit unnerved by Murdock's sudden lack of resistance. Even more carefully he guides him onto the bed and settles him in, then climbs in himself and holds him close.

Murdock seems resigned to this, and that hurts a bit too.

A light tapping at the door interrupts his selfish pang. Both Hannibal and Face come back in.

Hannibal looks over his pilot for a moment and says to just let him sleep. He tucks the blanket under Murdock's side, swaddling him so he can't wiggle out and get free.

Face bumps the ex-Colonel out of the way and whispers that they'll figure out what's going on, look over medication doses and side-effects and make it better. He tells B.A. that he'll be right outside the door if they want anything, and that he's willing to help any way that he can.

Hannibal repeats that too, and the both of them pat Murdock gently—Face runs his fingers through the pilot's hair—before leaving quietly. They close the door behind them.

_Day Five (one fifty four):_

Murdock occasionally mutters something in a broken voice. He tries, once, to push B.A. away, but the embrace is too much for deteriorated strength and coordination to fight against. Finally, dry sobs rock him.

B.A. just holds him, and presses another kiss into his temple. He doesn't try to reason with him, doesn't try to talk to him at all. He also doesn't try to stop his own tears.

_Day Five (one fifty nine):_

—spinning spinning slowing to a rocking stop, held so tightly, Bosco's Atlas strength fillin me up, the blak is overtaking my vision but he'll protect me good ol' Bosco, he's my . . . he's my . . . he's mine . . .

come sweet slumber, enshroud me in thy purple cloak—hmph. Doesn't even rhyme—

_Day Five (one fifty nine):_

Murdock falls asleep.


End file.
